Once this quarantine thing ends and I can cross state lines without my license plates attracting the wrong kind of attention, I may just break out for the scenes described in Holly Robinson’s Chance Harbor.

It could take me a few days to get there. It’s a marathon drive even for Robinson’s characters — from their Boston abodes to their house by the sea up on Prince Edward Island.

Eve, a lovely widowed matron, is just about to sell the house. What’s the use hanging on to it? It only reminds her that her husband is gone. Her two daughters are no longer the carefree children that once played on the shore and stained themselves eating island blueberries.

The oldest, Catherine, now holds down a nurse practitioner job back in Boston, slipping out for occasional restaurant dinners with her history-teacher husband. She has everything she wants in life, except a baby.

The youngest, Zoe, is just gone. After a string of addictions and bad boyfriends, she left her own daughter, Willow, with Catherine. Then she disappeared for good.

Willow, now a teenager, suffers normal teenage problems. How do I pass the school’s blonde and haughty Queen Bee without hallway humiliation? Where’s my Mom? Who’s my dad?

Chance Harbor suffers a few plot and exposition bumps in the beginning but, before long, the surprises just keep coming. Secrets emerge. Resentments bubble to the surface.

Is there a baby in Catherine’s future? Will that Queen Bee loom larger in Willow’s path? Should everybody rush up to the house on the island one last time before Eve signs it away? And does the phrase “Zoe is gone” mean gone-dead? Or gone-on-a-bender?

This book will either a soothe your housebound days, or light the fuse of your get-out-of-town hopes.